


The Divorce in LA

by KBates



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Jareth gets wet, Lots of Angst, Smut, The goblin king falls into a swimming pool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7548967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KBates/pseuds/KBates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Goblin King and his former Queen meet up at an art gallery. Will they get back together? Lots of angst ahead. Dark humor. Some sex. [Complete]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She takes a sip of the pink champagne, cringing a little as the fizziness hits her tongue. She’s never been one for fizzy drinks, but that’s the only booze they’re serving at this gallery opening.

There are quite a few people present here but she finds the quality of the art displayed overpriced. The masses have only flocked today because the gallery owner and artist is a major Hollywood actress. Flipping her long, straight, sable hair behind her shoulders, she smiles, little do most people know said actress isn’t even human. She’s a different being…one of _his_ kind.

She tells herself that she doesn’t know what she’s doing here. But that’s not true. She knows exactly what she’s doing here. That’s not exactly true either. She _somewhat_ knows what she’s doing here.

Standing in front of a piece labeled ‘Nihilism’ she stops herself from laughing when she looks at the hefty price tag of thirty eight k. It’s a plain white canvas with a black dot in the right hand corner. But she knows there will be no shortage of buyers as those scurrying for favor will snatch every piece up by morning.

“The prices are going up because people want to start bidding. The demand is too high for this… _exceptional_ piece of work.” It’s a man’s deep and lilting voice. Crooning almost, with a hint of mockery.

She turns her head slowly. “Are you a potential buyer?” He wears an expensive suit—an indigo, slim fit—perhaps too flashy up east. But out west, it’s blends with the background.

Rich laughter. He shakes his head, his unusual hair falls around his artfully stark face in wisps. “I couldn’t put a price on something so obviously _priceless_. How about you?”

She flashes him a smile, which widens when she notices how his lips part when he looks at her. “I didn’t come here to buy anything.” Taking a sip of the champagne, she continues, “I came here for the free booze.”

“And they let you in?” a small smile tugs his lips, but she knows that he’s trying not to smile too widely.

Shrugging elegantly, she inches a little closer to him and speaks in whispers. “The artist used to be a friend of mine.”

His smile broadens, he can’t help it. No matter how hard he tries to hide his inhuman teeth, he fails. So why should he bother? “I notice you say ‘used to,’ as in past tense. May I ask what ended your friendship, something dramatically scandalous?”

“Nothing scandalous at all,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Just plain old boring, every day shit you wouldn’t care to know.”

“But I do care to know, _precious_.”

She decides to humor him. “My friend comes from a distant land, one I _used to_ reside in. She cannot breach protocol by continuing to be my friend,” she says sighing. “You’re very persistent, you know.”

Same dulcet laughter. “So I’ve been told. You say ‘used to, _’ precious thing_ , anything happen for you to leave this… distant land?” His strange eyes glitter with raw emotion.

She looks at him, her eyes sly, not betraying the emotions running wild in her chest. “My heart was taken out of my chest and smashed into a million pieces,” her tone is absolutely flat. Smiling at the look of shock in his eyes, she continues, “not literally, mind you. But that’s what it felt like when it happened.”

“Is that what you really felt?” his voice is tender enough to make her heart twinge.

“I felt a lot worse, actually.” She sips her champagne and walks over to a different corner, one away from inquiring faces. She doesn’t look back—she knows he’s following her steps.

“Are you here with someone, _precious_?” Try as hard as he may, he cannot stop himself from asking.

“Why would ask that?” Having learned how to play his games throughout the years, she answers his question with another one.

He tilts his head and inches closer, his wispy hair looking like a crown atop his elegant head. “You look…delicious.” The hunger in his eyes are true to his words.

She wears a strapless column gown, simple enough, with two slits that came up to the knees, with dark brown, open toed heels. It’s the color of the dress that catches everyone’s eyes—bright crimson. As bright as freshly spilled blood. She wears no jewelry and her hair flows straight, behind her back.

“Well?” there’s a hint of impatience in his tone—he’s not a man used to waiting too long for the answers he wants. Of course, there’s the fact that he’s not a man at all.

“I’m not _here_ with anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.” She plays his game well, pleased when she sees annoyance flicker in his eyes. “But I am _with_ someone…” Holding up her left hand, she notices his utter shock as he appraises the four carat, emerald cut engagement ring on her finger.

His eyes blaze with anger, which settles into despair that he quickly hides. “Mortal?”

She snorts. “Of course. I’m done with immortal men.”

He narrows his eyes, “Why the hostility?”

“My…”she thinks of her right words, “ex-husband? Though technically there was no marriage certificate and no subsequent divorce so I don’t know if that’s the correct term.” She shrugs, “anyway, ex-husband was an immortal and let’s say…he left a lasting impression.”

“But you’re not a mortal, are you?” he backs her further into the corner, his eyes blazingly intense.

“I had to convert into an immortal to get bonded to my ex. Apparently, that process is irreversible.” Her eyes gleam with amusement, but there’s a tinge of bitterness that laces her words.

“So you will marry this…mortal and watch him die?” His tone borders on vicious.

She shrugs. “Maybe I’ll do to him what my ex-immortal did to me and keep him around forever.” She smiles as he bares his teeth. “Or maybe I’ll stay with him for a few years and move on, I haven’t decided yet. But enough about me, what about you—are you with someone?”

“No.”

“Really…no one?”

“I have a few acquaintances but I am not with them.”

She laughs. “That means you’re with multiple someones, don’t brush them off by calling them acquaintances.”

\--

“Sarah, I’m so glad you could make it,” the actress swoops in on her, giving her a hug, “I haven’t seen you forever, and…” her voice trails off and her golden skin visibly pales when she notices the man next to Sarah. “My King,” she whispers, she wants to curtsy but cannot—not with so much media present.

A few others of his kind notice them and whispers fly around the room. “The King and the Queen.” Well, former Queen.

With a flick of his wrist, the mortals in gallery freeze and those of his kind are free to pay homage to their King. “Rise,” he commands, after a sufficient amount of time has passed—and just like that the mortals come back to life. He turns his attention back to the golden skinned actress, “you may continue your friendship the Queen, Meilis.”

“Former Queen,” Sarah interrupts, meeting his disapproving stare head on. “I think we should be very clear on using correct terms—if Meilis is allowed to renew her friendship with me, she will not address me as the Queen.” She knows he doesn’t like it when she contradicts him. But he isn’t _her_ King anymore so she does not care.

“Very well,” he yields. “Former Queen. You are dismissed.” The mortals freeze again for a few seconds so that Meilis can curtsey before scurrying away.

“I’ll see you at the Gallery opening in New York,” Sarah calls after the receding actress. She turns back to him, hardening her eyes. She knows his tone is perfectly normal for a King, especially one of his stature, but she has always hated that part of him. “That was generous on your part,” she says.

“Yet your sweet voice sounds so very critical, _precious_.”

“I am not having this conversation here. There are more than a few members of court around us,” she whispers as she takes his hand. “Could you do the whole invisibility cloak thing? I’m going to transport us.” She could never learn the appropriate terms for magical spells, so she uses terms from Harry Potter instead. Much easier.

A small laugh. “That’s not what it’s called, _precious_.”

“Whatever it’s called—could you do it please? Now?”

As usual, he concedes and she transports them to her house in Rolling Hills.

\--

Trying to keep his rage contained, he stares at her flatly. “You think it wise, bringing me to your residence where you…” he cannot complete his thought.

She lounges on the sectional couch and takes off her, rather painful, shoes, completely unperturbed by his behavior. “Where I what? Fuck my fiancé?” She takes off the ring as she says this.

“You go too far, Sarah.” His voice is deceptively quiet but his eyes are aflame with fury.

She remains unperturbed. “He avoids LA like the plague, you can relax, he’s never been to this house.”

Sitting next to her in one fluid motion, he rests his head on her shoulder, his wispy hair tickling her skin. “I love you.”

“Not the way I want you to, Jareth.”

“Come back with me,” he murmurs as he places feather light kisses across her shoulders.

“No.” She leans back on the sofa.

“You are mine.” He snakes an arm around her waist and deftly places her on his lap.

“That’s up for debate.” She shuts her eyes as he sets her hair aside, laying a trail of kisses along her shoulder and neck. A small moan escapes her lips when he kisses a certain spot on her neck.

“You will always be mine, Sarah.” His hands rove her body from above her dress.

She gets up from his lap, her movements not quite as fluid as his, but graceful enough. Turning around to look at him, she studies the lines of his face. Bastard looks as beautiful as ever. “I _was_ yours Jareth, and hell will freeze over before I’m ever yours again.”

“That can be arranged, my love,” he says, baring his pointy teeth.

Rolling her eyes, she beckons him to follow her. “Want to see my patio?” she asks, heading there before looking at him for a response. “When you broke my heart the first time, Jareth, I said I would never allow myself to feel that kind of pain again.” She turns back to glance at him, “when you broke my heart for the hundredth time—when you tore it out of my body and shattered it—I swore on my life that I would never allow you to do so again. I will never be yours as long as I’m alive.”

There is no venom in her voice—only steady conviction. Yet her words make him flinch. “My vengeful Queen.”

They walk in silence until they reach the glass doors leading to her patio. The house is situated on top of a hill, and the patio overlooks the city lights. There’s an infinity pool at the very edge and some lounge chairs arranged alongside it. At the other side is a fire pit and a small outdoor kitchen space. She has used the pool maybe once and the kitchen…never. She can’t recall using the kitchen.

“I’d offer you wine, but I don’t keep any,” she says coolly, heading to the small fridge in the kitchenette and taking out a bottle of Southern Comfort. “You’re not exactly supposed to chill this, but leaving it out in the heat isn’t advisable either so…” she realizes she’s babbling. “You want this?”

Raising a brow, the Goblin King looks at the bottle suspiciously. “What is it?”

She grins. “Peach whiskey.”

“And what’s that?”

“It’s a really cheap drink that’s a nice national treasure.” Opening the bottle, she takes a swig, not bothering with glasses. “Here,” she hands him the bottle.

His brows furrow—he’s not accustomed to uncouthly chugging liquor from a bottle, but he does so anyway, wincing as the bittersweet taste of the peach whiskey hits his taste buds. “I shall refrain from having this vile drink again,” he states haughtily, handing the bottle back to her.

She shrugs. “Your loss, Your Highness,” she teases as she takes another swig before placing the bottle on the counter and walking towards the pool. Tilting her head sideways, she slowly turns around to look at him. “I feel like swimming,” she drawls as she unzips her dress, looking him in the eye.

He will not look away for the world. He cannot look away. There she is, standing in her sleek and chiseled body completely naked. The fact that she never wore undergarments through the night arouses him to the limit.

“You –“ That’s all he says before she jumps into the pool, a few drops of chlorinated water splash onto him.

She finally raises her head from the water, her legs moving with the skill of a selkie. “Join me.” Her sable colored hair flows in the water and her lips look darker than ever.

“I’d rather not, precious.”

Amusement flashes through her jade colored eyes. “Scared of the water, _my King_ ,” She floats on her back, her eyes closed and her rose colored nipples peeking through the surface of the water.

A slow, rumbling laugh. He is painfully hard at the sight of her luscious body move through the water. He drops down and lounges on a poolside chaise, his eyes never leaving her body.

Swimming up to him and resting her chin on her hands, by the side of the pool, she smiles. “Join me, won’t you?” she uses the imploring tone that he uses on her. Used to anyway.

“You look like a mermaid,” he says, his lilting voice low, “one willing to pull a sailor down and feed him to the god of the seas.”

She reaches up and circles one of her fingers around his ankle. “Should I?”

“Sarah.” There’s a cold warning in his voice.

Looking up at him, her jade eyes flashing, she pulls him hard enough that he falls into the water.

“Sarah!” He roars her name.

“I’m so sorry, my King, I was compelled to defy you.” She manages to speak among fits of laughter. The mighty Goblin King, wearing human attire, drenched. It doesn’t escape him that she does not look sorry at all.

He doesn’t exactly swim in the water—his arms and legs are not constantly moving, but he is somehow on the surface. His outfit and shoes have disappeared, leaving him as naked as she.

Swimming to where she is, he drapes an arm around her shoulders, pulling her body to him, her back pressed firmly against his chest. “Dearest,” he says, laying kisses against her ear as he presses his hardened arousal against her lower back. “What do you think is going to happen tonight?”

Turning around, she brushes her lips against his. “Tonight, Your Highness, I will grant you your dreams.” She kisses him then, her lips devouring his. Her tongue lashes against the roof of his mouth and the backs of his sharpened teeth.

The Goblin King stays still for a few moments, alarmed, before responding to her kiss. But when he does, his passion is strong enough to drown her. His mouth is slick against hers and his body taut. He takes care to reign in his sharpened teeth so as not to hurt her. His hands slide across her shoulders and down her arms, down her hips and towards her center.

She breathes softly—she can almost feel him touch her where she needs it the most. Almost. “Jareth,” she whispers.

He cups her there, his fingers resting on the top.

“Jareth, please.”

It’s probably the please that does it—he slowly explores her with his fingers, his thumb circling a spot that makes her weak all over. “What do you want me to do, dear love?” He presses his hardened length deeper against her back.

She needs a few moments to gather her wits, his fingers having rendered her powerless. With a wicked grin, she runs her hands down his thighs and pulls him closer against her back, satisfied as she hears him groan against her neck. “I want you to fuck me Jareth. Remind me that I am yours and I will never be anyone else’s…even if you have no power over me.”

–

In a flash, they are in her bedroom, lying against luxurious off white, a gazillion-thread count sheets. He pulls her thighs apart and places himself at her entrance. “I cherish you, my dearest love.”

With that he plunges into her, pounding with all his might. If he had patience, he would have gone slower, but he has no patience. Not any longer. She has remained out of his grasp for too long.

She takes him in, her inner walls rushing to accommodate his massive length, moaning against his chest. Her hips rise to meet his in their symphonic rhythm until they cry out in ecstasy.

 

 

\--

The Goblin King looks positively angelic in the morning—his gold and silver hair spread against the sheets like a splayed halo. He stirs lightly as she wakes him.

“Some bacon and scrambled eggs for you, Jareth,” she says, placing a breakfast tray by his side.

“Thank you, my love. The scrambled eggs recipe is new.”

She takes a bite of the scrambled eggs, her tongue touching the fork. “The least I could do, Your Highness.” She smiles at him, “I learned the new recipe from my fiancé, my _love_.”

The breakfast tastes like ash in his mouth.

She laughs. Mocking him. Mocking herself. Laying a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth, she breathes in his scent. “My Goblin King,” she whispers to no one.

“ _Your_ Goblin King,” he repeats.

“I will always love you.” She may have tears in her eyes.


	2. Back East

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably a mistake but I decided to continue—it’ll consist of very few, short chapters. Love the feedback!  
> If you haven’t seen the movie Conversations with Other Women then I recommend you do. It’s insanely romantic.  
> Disclaimer: This fic is based on the premise of the movie Conversations with Other Women—I do not own the Labyrinth or Conversations with Other Women.

_It’s her first year as Queen and she’s not sure whether she likes it. She sleeps in her own chambers, is attended to by a gaggle of five maids, and is constantly surrounded by courtiers who, in all likelihood, probably want her head. The court is full of actors—they are pleasant to each other’s faces but vicious behind backs._

_-“The Goblin King married to a human?”_

_-“He had her converted?”_

_-“A Queen who knows nothing of our history or culture?”_

_She ignores them the first year—he kisses away her insecurities. She requests that they share the same room, but he is insistent that the Goblin Queen should have her own. He makes sure that she is thoroughly exhausted every night before leaving. She concedes to having separate chambers._

_By the third year, she’s furious. The whispers have only gotten more vicious and she’s had to make too many concessions._

_By the fifth year, she leaves._

_Ten years have passed since._

\--

 She reminisces her old life with wry humor—what a naïve girl she had been. She’s sitting at the bar in a popular restaurant, Zafre that serves Spanish and Arabic fusion cuisine.

“Thinking of me?” He sits next to her, a swish of fabric as he inches slightly closer.

She can see him out of the corners of her eyes. His suit is dark gray and his shoes are jet black. It’s a conservative yet stylish look, perfect for the east. “We have got to stop meeting like this.” There’s humor in her voice. And perhaps there’s something else.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.” There is a hint of a question in his voice, but he doesn’t ask her forthright.

She’s dressed in a plain black cocktail dress that falls just above her knees with black pumps. Very monochromatic. Her eyes are smoky and her lips stained deep red. Taking out her phone, she sends a message. “I was.”

His knuckles turn white as he grips the counter.

“Were you asking a question?” She turns to him now, flashing him a smile.

“Who?” That’s all he says.

Her jade eyes flash with cold amusement, like she’s pondering what to tell him. But she relents. “Meilis—I told her we should reschedule as something came up last minute. Or she’ll see you and freak out. Anyway, why are you here?”

“I was intrigued by your story the last time we met, _precious_. I would like to know what happened in this distant land of yours to turn you so… severe.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a large sip of scotch. “Heart break, humiliation, and disparagement to name a few things.” She smiles as he widens his eyes, “enslavement.”

“I believe you were Queen.”

“I was a slave to the whims of the King, the Council, and the Court…I will not return to that.”

Anger blazes deeper in his eyes and the beautifully harsh lines of his face begin to contort. “What’s said is said, and what’s done cannot be undone. You know our rules, Sarah.” His lilting voice is rough. “I’ve been lenient enough to allow you your freedom these last ten summers but you _will_ return as my Queen.”

“Freedom?” she laughs slowly. “I would have liked the freedom to visit my family, Jareth but I can’t. Guess why, Your Highness?” her voice is sweet. “Because I have been erased from their memory.”

“Sarah-“

She doesn’t let him speak. “When you turned me immortal, you never told me that my mortal life would vanish,” there’s a commanding tone in her voice that he’s never heard before. “You will never take me back alive.” Light catches on the rock on her finger.

“You cannot go through with this absurdity, it is against the law.”

“Then arrest me, _Your Highness_. Have me executed.” She speaks in a low voice—almost whispers these words to him.

He opens his mouth to answer her when a tall, brown haired man swoops in and places an arm around Sarah. Turning to face this man, she puts on a dazzling smile before kissing him on the lips. “You’re late.”

The Goblin King goes very, very still.

“Sorry about that Corina. Work,” that’s all the explanation he gives before turning to Jareth and extending a hand. “Avi David,” he says.

The Goblin King is too stunned to notice how the man calls her Corina, not Sarah.

“Avi, this is Jareth, an old friend,” she smiles wickedly, “Jareth—Avi, we’re getting married in a few months.” She has rendered the Goblin King speechless…and perhaps immobile.

Avi doesn’t seem to understand the Goblin King’s shock as he grabs his hand in an impromptu shake before answering his phone. He’s the kind of man who’s always multitasking. “Yes. Don’t buy now, wait for the UK market to open,” he gestures at them as he keeps speaking, “that’s two in the morning eastern standard. I’ll be up, call me.” He opens his mouth to ask a question, presumably how Jareth knows his fiancé, but is disturbed by his phone again. “Excuse me,” he says before heading outside.

Fury.

She can feel his fury pulsing along her skin, along the bar counter, and even her glass of scotch—the amber colored liquid is literally shaking. “Stop that. It’s against your _rules_.”

He looks at her with an almost violent level of intensity. “What makes you believe that I wouldn’t rip the poor mortal from limb to limb and tear out his heart, my love?” His voice is deceivingly quiet but there’s a low hum of magic vibrating from every spoken word. He _is_ very capable of carrying out his threat.

“I’m familiar with the laws, Jareth—you cannot harm a mortal who has done nothing to cross you.” She smiles when his eyes constrict with rage. “Fucking me, your alleged Queen doesn’t count because I’ve never told him about you or _me_ , for that matter. Hell, he doesn’t even know my real name.” Her smile widens as she bears her teeth, “The deception is mine, _my King_. Arrest me.” _If you dare_.

He doesn’t. Instead, he gets up gracefully and leaves.

\--

_“What happened at the Elysium ball?”_

_“She did not…she did?”_

_“But he is King. Foolish former mortal.”_

_“She has not come out of her chambers since.”_

_“The last time, she stayed inside for three weeks.”_

\--

“I won’t.”

“Sarah, I can’t be the bearer of bad news to His Majesty.”

Sarah gives her friend a look. “He is using you to blackmail me.”

“Regardless, we’ve both seen what he is capable of doing to messengers who bear bad news.” The golden skinned woman is pleading.

“Then tell him I’m open to meeting him in my realm. Not the Underground.”

“He may not be pleased…”

“Tell him to meet me at my house in LA—he’s been there before.”

The actress nods, resigned. Being in the middle of two warring monarchs is a terrible position.

“And if he so much as harms a single hair on your head, so help me-“

“Thanks Queenie,” Meilis interrupts, using the old nickname for her friend. “But that won’t be necessary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’d he do? Hmm. Lots of things.  
> Based on PMs—Why I keep Sarah generally…relatively wealthy? And in a nice city?  
> Don’t know. I prefer it if my characters are comfortably well off with decent lives. I’m familiar with NYC, LA, Atlanta, Houston, and, to a level, DC. So I’ll probably set my stories in these places (probably NYC and LA for the time being).


	3. The Ultimate Health Cocktail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This fic is based on the premise of the movie Conversations with Other Women—I do not own the Labyrinth or Conversations with Other Women
> 
> Edit--someone pointed out that the word 'bad' may be offensive so I'm editing it to 'strict' (which is what I meant to begin with).

 

She chops up avocados on the outdoor kitchen counter, prepping for the ultimate salad. Avocados, arugula, diced cantaloupe and sugared walnuts topped with a tangy mandarin vinaigrette.

“You’re too tense, Queenie.” The golden skinned actress flips a fashion magazine as she lounges on one a poolside chaise.

Sarah raises a brow and takes a long sip of her drink. The ultimate health cocktail—which, apparently consists of freshly squeezed lemon with a hint of salt and a shot of wheat grass. Pathetic. But people seem to have stopped drinking out west and she wants to blend in. “You would be too if an extremely powerful sociopath was after you.”

Looking up from the magazine, the actress gasps. “Please do not blaspheme the King, you never know who’s watching.”

The brunette rolls her eyes. She seems to do this every time her friend talks of ‘the King’ in hushed tones. “ _I’m_ blaspheming the King, not you. And _he_ gave you the greenlight to continue being my friend.” She’s interrupted by a flash of pink and white zipping around in circles. “Why are we not drinking alcohol again?”

Meilis goes back to her magazine. “Because this drink is supposed to cleanse your body and give you a natural glow. Alcohol does the opposite.” She looks over herself, as if saying ‘see…I’m so golden because I drink this every day.’ “And it’s eleven in the morning.”

Sarah laughs. “It’s seven in the evening in London.”

“And?”

“Avi’s in London. I was _supposed_ to be in London this week. Therefore, I can drink in LA.”

Shrieking with laughter, the actress throws the fashion magazine at her friend. It lands by her feet. “Queenie, you’re ridiculous.” She becomes serious. “You’re fond of Avi.” It’s an observation, not a question.

“Very.”

“So you’ll go through with marrying him.” Again, an observation.

“Possibly.” Sarah smiles. She’s learned their ways of answering questions with non-definitive answers.

“Aren’t you afraid of hurting him?” A genuine question this time.

“Avi is very…practical,” Sarah sighs, “he’s not some hopeless romantic fool who’s marrying me because he loves me. He’s marrying me because we’re a good match—at least based on what I’ve told him about myself.”

The actress sits up and pushes her oversized sunglasses on her head. “What’s that?”

“That I’m an independently wealthy art dealer from Boston, with a BA in fine arts from Harvard.”

Meilis doubles over with laughter. “But you went to NYU…and have a degree in anthropology.”

Sarah smiles a sly smile. “Yea well, Avi was looking for a perfect woman to get married to…and I gave him one. A perfect woman to suit a man who comes from a wealthy family, works in a big PE firm, and has an MBA from Yale. Had I been a middle class school teacher from Jersey with a Rutgers degree, he’d probably have run for the hills.”

“So you’re tormenting him?”

The brunette rolls her eyes again, “Avi’s not in love with me, Meilis, he never will be. It’s not in his personality. Both of us have ironclad pre-nups and neither of us wants children, so dissolving this thing should be easy. If I do decide to go through with the wedding that is.”

“Your love life, Queenie…oh gods.” The magazine flies from where it has handed, near Sarah’s feet, into the actress’s lap.

“He’s seeing his girlfriend in Paris before he goes back to New York so I don’t think he’ll be too heartbroken. I truly admire the man—he compartmentalizes his life so well.” She pours the vinaigrette over the salad and carries the bowl to the outdoor dining set, a recent addition. “Lunch?”

“Is that an invitation, _precious_?” His paradoxical voice has the edge of a whip, yet flows smoothly like silk. Had she not already placed the bowl on the table, she would probably have dropped it.

Whirling around to face him, she purses her lips. “Thank you for barging in without notice,” her voice drips with sarcasm.

Meilis’s reaction is comical. Jumping up from the chaise, she drops down to curtsey. While dressed in a strapless black bikini…not remotely acceptable attire in the Underground. Which wasn’t as strict as Saudi but almost as strict as Iran or rural Utah when it came to policing female garb.

“Rise.” Lips quirking up, the Goblin King decides to be merciful. His attention on Meilis only lasts for a fraction of a second before being fixated on Sarah—who is wearing a similar suit in scarlet. “You did give me an invitation to come here, did you not, _precious_?”

“Common courtesy dictates that you inform someone before appearing in their house, Your Majesty.”

Meilis groans, the war has begun. She quickly dresses herself with magic.

“But you didn’t specify your timings.” His eyes twinkle with amusement.

“Of course,” she snaps, rushing to the fridge, taking out a newly purchased bottle of Patron, yanking the cap off and pouring a generous amount in her ‘health cocktail’—now it’s an ultimate health margarita. “It’s my fault you can barge in whenever you want.”

“Your Majesties, if I may be excused,” Meilis all but whispers from where she’s standing.

“You may leave.” His commands are always succinct when addressing members of court.

The actress bows down in another curtsey “My King. Queen,” and scurries off before scurrying back, her face red.

“Yes?” the Goblin King asks, his voice curt.

“I’m sorry Your Majesty, I need to retrieve my…pet,” she mumbles before whistling, “Maxine! Come here girl!”

The King raises his brows as an overgrown rat in a pink…tutu? runs past him and into the courtier’s arms. “You possess a rat dressed as a ballerina?”

Placing Maxine into her purse, Meilis looks at Sarah before answering, “This is a dog Your Highness. A toy poodle.”

Slow laughter. “You may leave, Meilis.”

“Before you run off—don’t forget to send me the dress that you wore for Elle last month. I need it for the gala.” The brunette sounds extremely annoyed as her afternoon of relaxation and rejuvenation has been ruined.

“Will do, Queenie.” True to her friend’s words, she runs off and calls her driver.

\--

_She tells him her problems at first. But when he places a lady in the dungeon, chained by iron, for a month, she stops. She doesn’t approve of his retributions and it doesn’t seem to work in her favor anyway._

_A year in, she stops seeing him every day, except briefly for meals as he is preoccupied with a trade deal. She manages to stomach the Fire Harvest that year, gritting her teeth all the while._

_She travels the kingdom and some neighboring ones with a friend and a group of ladies in waiting. She does not see him for a month until the yearly Elysium ball._

_She sees him with the corners of her eyes. But she doesn’t react._

_The next year she is happy briefly, the trade deals are over and he spends the whole of winter in her chambers. But the Fire Harvest of spring nears and she cannot bring herself to stop thinking about the rituals. Moreover, she begins to understand the detriments of being married to a King._

_She cannot stand the sight of him._

_\--_

“She travels like humans when she can transport?”

“She’s quite famous and paranoid that someone might notice if she suddenly pops up out of thin air.” She looks at him, noticing that he has arrived in his official Goblin King outfit—tailored pants of midnight blue, tucked into black dragon-leather boots. He wears a jacket spun out of night and smog and a crown of thorns. She shivers. Perhaps he is here to arrest her after all.

“You look well.” His words are heated and eyes rake over her body.

She shakes her head, slipping a brilliantly white cover-up dress over her head. “Would you like an ultimate margarita?” she asks coolly, taking a sip of her disgusting drink that is now less disgusting, courtesy the Patron.

“No, precious. Your drinks are…rather unique.”

She walks over to the dining table and plops down on a chair. “Lunch?” She serves her healthy creation on two plates without waiting for an answer.

He eyes the salad as he sits down across from her. “This is rather unique as well,” he says tentatively tasting the dish before flashing her a smile, “but delicious.”

She smiles back, her eyes beaming—noticing how his lips part and his mismatched eyes flicker when she does this. “I’m not coming back, Jareth.” The smile remains on her face.

He looks at her for a few heart beats, his face impassive. “How quick you are to get to the point, my love.”

She laughs. “I really, really _hate_ playing word games, Jareth. It’s one of the things that made me leave your realm.”

“I could issue a decree stating that Queen is to be spoken to in a direct manner.”

“And I’d be a bigger laughing stock.”

“You never cared about the opinion of others, precious.”

“I do when ‘others’ are always around, Jareth. I was never free to be myself.” She runs a hand down her long, straight hair. “There’s too much of a cultural gap. I’m done.”

“Cultural gap?” he is amused by this term.

She isn’t. Raising a brow, she speaks without emotion, “Yes, like the Fire Harvest of spring, Your Majesty. I have…major issues with how the magic is renewed.”

A flicker of emotion. “I cannot change that, my love.”

“I know.”

“The ritual does not _mean_ anything.”

“It does to _me_ …and I’m sure it does to the maiden.”

\--

_Dressed in a flowing gown spun of muted gold and silver, she dances with a dark haired man with dark eyes. He is an immortal from a different land, but spends time in the above. As a doctor for Médecins Sans Frontières._

_She is enthralled by his recent journey to Rwanda._

_The two dark haired dancers stand out starkly in a sea of gold and silver._

_-“Impossible. Not without producing an heir first.”_

_-“Perhaps an heir is already underway. She was formerly mortal and they are extremely fertile.”_

_-“Regardless, I do not think the King would allow that until an heir was born.”_

_-“The King has his own…interests in mind. Did you see him at the ball?”_

_-“Oh gods, he was wicked.” Laughter._


	4. California Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This fic is based on the premise of the movie Conversations with Other Women—I do not own the Labyrinth or Conversations with Other Women.
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains some sexual content but I don't think it goes over an M rating.

“We’ve been through this before, my love, there are things I cannot change.” His tone is placating or perhaps even pleading, but his words are edged with sharpness.

She shrugs calmly, “and I’ve never heard a satisfactory answer from you. I’ve accepted that _that_ issue will _never_ be resolved between us, so let’s go back to the more important topic. What do you want from me right now?”

He looks lost for a moment, just a split second, before his mask falls into place. “Explain the term ‘cultural gap’ to me,” his voice is commanding but she sees that he is genuinely curious.

It’s on the tip of her tongue to add ‘please’ to his sentence, but she refrains. Here is her one chance to use the pointless anthro degree. “It means that I am from a culture that is too different—I cannot accept the basic norms of yours, like the Fire Harvest of spring.” He looks confused so she continues, “I don’t know if this example will work but are you familiar with the Masai of Kenya and Tanzania?”

He nods his head, wary but amused. That’s an extreme example. She notices that the crown of thorns has disappeared from his head, allowing his wild mane to rise untamed. How opportune.

“I can’t decide to move to the Serengeti and join the Masai without accepting their ways of life—basically, I can’t move to a place and expect the culture to adapt to me, the burden of adaptation lies _entirely_ on me…and I simply cannot adapt to your world.” And that is the heartless truth. “I tried, I really did.” She softens her tone, “I stopped trying.”

His gaze is intense and his eyes are dark. He stares at her harshly for a few moments before speaking. “You believe I will not arrest you, my love? That I will not take you as my prisoner, which I am well within my rights to do.” Smiling almost viciously, he leans into her, satisfied when her eyes widen for a fraction of a second.

She laughs merrily at the irony of his words, throwing her head back, her dark tresses falling below her shoulders. “Where would you keep me, Your Majesty, your infamous dungeons?” He doesn’t reply—she knows he would never do that. “In your chambers, perhaps?” She laughs some more. “It is absolutely _hysterical_ that I couldn’t sleep in your chambers as your Queen but can do so as your… _prisoner_.”

His lips twist into a smirk—it _is_ hysterical. “I must confess, I heard you speak with Meilis,” he changes the subject artfully.

“I am not surprised,” she retorts, her voice pleasantly mild. “Go ahead and ask your questions, Jareth. I’m sure you have a few.”

He raises a brow. She is not as quick to anger as he remembers. “Correct me if I’m wrong, precious, but you stated that your…paramour,” he pauses, “has a ‘ _girlfriend’_ in Paris.” The word girlfriend is clearly foreign to him.

“That’s not a question,” she says. Her voice is lighter still.

“Sarah.” The tone alone used to be enough to make her stop playing games. Not anymore.

“I think he’s been seeing this woman since before he met me, but by the gods, he is a good compartmentalizer.”

“ _Sarah_.” His eyes blaze with icy fire.

“It’s a game, Jareth. I’m playing it—he’s playing it—and in the end neither of us get hurt. Actually, the girlfriend will get hurt.” She thinks about that for a few moments, “probably.”

“No longer a crusader for love, my Sarah?”

She laughs again, genuinely—her jade eyes glow with warmth. “No.” She flashes him a smile and he mourns the loss of the naïve charm she once possessed. Rising up from her seat, she looks at him through her lashes. “Won’t you come in, Your Highness.”

He snorts, rather elegantly. “Do you expect me to say no?”

\--

_Keeping herself busy with small projects, she tries finding happiness—rearranging the castle, rearranging the gardens, teaching the goblins basic reading skills—until she eventually runs out of options._

_She realizes there is so much of her world she has not seen. So many things that she has not experienced. An infinite number of things she will **never** experience because she will rearrange gardens instead. _

\--

“Would you like a tour of the house?”

“No.” His eyes remain hooked to the back of her head. He isn’t here to see the house.

She looks back, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “It’s a large house, and I paid a fortune for the decorator.” she singsongs. “You sure you don’t want a tour?”

A sharp toothed smile. “Perfectly.”

“Well then, come see my master suite.” She slides the cherry wood door that open up to a large room. “You probably didn’t get a good look the last time around.”

The stone finished walls are white washed and the hardwood on the floor is dark—as is the wooden vaulting on the high ceilings. One of the walls is made of glass—opening up to the view of the valley below. There are no other houses close by.

Her furnishings are sparse—something she learned from him, there is only a massive in the middle and a small desk and chair in the corner—all dark wood and clean lines. The bed linens are pale lilac instead of off white like earlier. A stark contrast to the intricately carved furniture and rich, embroidered coverlets that adorned her room in the castle. She presses a button and wall opens up to a fireplace that’s already lit.

“I’m not giving this up to go back and deal with the godawful Council every single day, Jareth. Hooray electricity and hooray twenty first century American life.” She flops on the bed, sinking onto the mattress. “And hooray democracy.”

He smiles in spite of himself. “Let me see you, Sarah.”

“You already see me, Your Highness.”

Slow laughter, “Your magic is _never_ going to be strong enough to blind me, my love. Stop the pretense.”

Arrogant bastard. Giving him a tight lipped smile, she responds, “This is the way I wish to look.”

“Humor me, precious.”

She yields—letting go of the glamour she’s put on herself -a slight ageing spell – and turns back to the age at which she became immortal, twenty one. The chiseled sleekness of her face disappears, leaving behind a slightly fuller, more youthful face and warmer eyes, ones without ice.

 _This_ is the woman he loves. “Do you not miss me, _dearest_?” his voice is rough and his eyes have darkened as he stands in the middle of the room and appraises her reaction.

She turns serious, the warmth leaving her eyes. “Every moment.” But then eyes gleam teasingly as she smirks at him, “But not enough to hand over my life.”

“Perhaps I could change your mind?” A sudden darkness creeps into his voice, just enough to generate a spark of unease in her chest.

“ _Nothing_ you say or do can convince me, Jareth. End of conversation,” she bares her teeth in a savage smile, “now, if we’re done with this meeting, I am going to head to London for a few days.” Raising a defiant brow, she looks at him. Daring him to take the bait.

A slow, predatory smile. “Is that a challenge, my _precious_ creature?”

“You may take it as such.”

His unnerving eyes glitter with hunger. “Then allow me to accept.” In a flash, he’s sitting next to her, his hands in her entangled into the masses of her hair and his lips on hers.

\--

_She learns the art of traversing through realms from the dark haired immortal. In secret. Half the court thinks she has taken him as a lover and the other half…well, they probably think she has taken him as a lover as well. She hasn’t, but she never corrects them. She learns how to tether herself to the human realm, once she gets there. How to place wards so she is untraceable._

_If he’s heard any of the rumors, he never asks her about them…and she abstains from bringing up the **myriad** of rumors concerning him. _

_She realizes, in dismay, she has become one of **those** women…the type so desperately afraid to ask questions for the answers that may break their heart. _

_Pathetic._

\--

She is pushed back onto the bed as he devours her mouth with the fervor of a starving beast, his teeth almost gnashing against hers. His tongue feels slick against her own, and his lips deceivingly soft. Their clothing has disappeared along with her ring.

“Let me rule you, this once, precious.” He shoves her, not gently, onto her back, his mouth laying open kisses down her neck and across her collarbone. One thumb gently caresses a nipple.

Her breathing becomes rough, erratic as she entangles her fingers in his feather soft hair. She has to try twice before she finds her voice, “Never.” She cries out in pleasure as the gentle caress turns into a sharp pinch. His fingers rake her body in long strokes and circle her navel.

She feels him smile against the skin of her chest. “Never?” he repeats ominously, before his hot mouth closes over her breast, his tongue touching the very tip of her nipple. He chuckles slowly as she cries out again. “Say that again, precious,” he demands, fingers caressing the sensitive skin on the tops of her thighs and his mouth sucking the underside of her other breast.

Her breathing is frenzied as liquid heat gathers between her legs. She knows that the bastard is _fully_ aware of this but anger only excites her even more. “It’s never _this once_. Not with you…” her voice trails off into a deep, rasping moan as his thumb rests on the bundle of nerves at the top of her folds. He spreads her legs apart, tongue flicking against her navel, his breath hot against her skin.

“Well then, _precious creature_ ,” he murmurs, his eyes blazing into hers for a few seconds, “permit me to sway your resolve.” He kisses her folds like he did her mouth.

“Jareth,” she pleads. Her hands, not quite reaching his hair, grasp the lilac sheets.

His tongue explores her depths in rhythmic thrusts, circling her entrance, increasing her sense of need. Pushing her clit gently with his thumb, he nips the slick skin right below it, satisfied when she curses loudly. He eases two fingers into her entrance, caressing her inner walls.

Her chest rises and falls as she feels her body begin to tense, “I’ll never let you rule me again, Jareth,” she says, involuntarily squeaking in protest as he lifts his head.

He raises a laconic brow, eyes alight with cruel humor. “I would hate to leave you… _unfulfilled_ , precious,” his thumb continues exerting just the right amount of pressure on her clit and he moves his fingers inside her, rubbing against the agonizingly pleasurable spot that only he has ever known.

She moans, her eyelids half shut, her breath coming out in pants. She can feel her body tense, like a coiled spring ready to be released, but he does not let that happen. Bastard. “I’m sure I can find someone else to finish the job, Jareth,” she says, congratulating herself that she can speak with cool indifference. “ _Easily_.”

His sharp teeth nip the sensitive skin on the insides of her thighs—she yelps in pain. “That was an immeasurably unwise response, my darling wife.” His voice chills her very bones.

\--

_The Elysium Ball this year is particularly well attended. She wears a lusciously black gown—perhaps a sign of mourning. She tries enjoying herself but how can she?_

_She sees him then, her jaw drops open in shock._

_She runs._

_There are no chairs to break her out of her prison. Not this time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So Sarah ages herself to thirty one because no one takes twenty one year olds seriously. Except maybe eighteen year olds. She’s living the adulthood she never had and realizing that she likes the power. Doesn't hurt that she has a great life, nice house, houses maybe, and nice friends.


	5. Cupcakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This fic is based on the premise of the movie Conversations with Other Women—I do not own the Labyrinth or Conversations with Other Women.
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains some sexual content.

“Ssh, my darling,” he drawls, licking the bite with his tongue. “I shall ignore your, _rather discourteous_ , statement.” He lays soft kisses along the tops of her thighs, his thumb still resting on her clit.

She tries reaching for his hair, to hold his head in place, when she realizes she cannot move her arms. “Release me, right now, Jareth,” she commands, her voice cold.

He grins sharply as he looks up. “Come, come, precious, we both know how lusciously wet you become when you’re under my control.” His thumb releases her clit and the sudden flow of blood to the sensitive bundle of nerves makes her entire body jolt—right at that moment, he takes the nub into his mouth and sucks.

“This isn’t-” she moans, unable to finish her thought. “Isn’t the Underground-” she moans again, her voice becoming hoarser by the second. “You cannot. Jareth,” she whispers.

“Yes” his voice is mild, “I cannot?” In spite of his calm demeanor, his self-control hangs by a thread. Her smell is intoxicating and it takes every ounce of his willpower to not ravage her right then.

“Use magic in my house,” she says in between breaths as he kisses his way up her body.

“Who will stop me, precious,” his voice is gently mocking as he kisses the corner of her mouth. “ _You_?” But he doesn’t let her answer as he kisses her mouth—a slow, languid kiss. His hands adjust her hips against his.

She’s losing control and she knows it. She _needs_ it back. “Stop talking and fuck me.”

Placing his head in the crook of her neck, he laughs. “Anything for _you_ ,” he thrusts himself into her, groaning as he feels the tightness of her inner walls. Her hips rise to meet his thrust and they move in a slow rhythm, prolonging their pleasure.

He silences her moans with his lips, kissing her deeply, his tongue moving in the same rhythm as his thrusts until her eyes glaze over and she cries out as she comes—he kisses her again, his thrusts more frenzied while her muscles grip his length and contract, eliciting his own release.

Her arms now free, she wraps herself around his chest, listening to his heart beat. “I’m beginning to think,” she says against his chest, her voice breathless, “that you called in this _meeting_ just to get into my bed, my King.”

She smiles as she hears rumbling laughter reverberate through his chest.

\--

_“I need to leave.”_

_“Sarah, this is madness.” He has heard this threat from her for the last few months._

_“I **will** leave, Jareth.”_

_He grips her chin with a gloved hand, “We shall speak of this after the meeting.”_

_She finds herself transported back into her room. The doors bolted from the outside—that’s her breaking point._

_In a flash of light, Sarah Williams disappears from the Queen’s chambers._

\--

He kisses her shoulder, his hair tickling her skin. “Ten years,” he murmurs, “you hid from me for ten years. What do you want from me, Sarah?” There’s raw emotion in his voice that she cannot quite place.

She brushes her lips against his. “There’s no point—you can never give me what I want.” He drapes one arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

“Humor me and state your terms, _precious_. What would it take for you to return?”

She raises her brows and grins. “You sure you want to know?”

“Sarah.” He says her name, but she senses the underlying command ‘speak.’

“One, quit taking part in the Fire Harvest. Two, share a room with me. Three quit fucking your… _fans_. Especially ones who make my life miserable afterwards.” She places a hand on his chest when he opens his mouth. “Four, give me free reign to traverse between realms so I can have a life here. Five, allow me to limit my time spent with the Council. If you can swear a blood oath on all points, I will return as Queen.”

His ethereal eyes burn with a ferocity she has never seen before, as he tries to compose himself. His arm around her waist tightens, pulling her against him. “Who,” he says, his voice deathly quiet, “do you presume I had been, as you so crudely put it, _fucking_?”

She remains unfazed. “I cannot give you a list, Jareth, but I did see you at the Elysium ball,” she smiles as comprehension dawns in his eyes. “I saw you sitting on your chair in your study…I’m not sure who she was as I couldn’t see her _face_. But kneeling on the floor must have crumpled that beautiful dress.”

His gaze never falters as his eyes burn into hers, his grip on her waist borders on being painful. “I was not aware that you were under the assumption I was _fucking my fans_ , as you put it, Sarah.” She tries interrupting him but his kisses her, hard. “Or that you saw me the night of the ball,” he kisses her again, his teeth nipping her lower lip. “I am a touch _curious_ as to why you did not speak to me about either matter,” he licks neck with the tip of his tongue.

A rush of desire floods her core as he nips and suckles her neck. Her nipples peak against the warm skin of his chest, begging to be touched. “I was broken enough already, Jareth. And I guess I didn’t have the courage to face you.” She struggles against his hold, gasping as he presses his hardened arousal against her slick core. His insatiable stamina is incomparable to mortal men. “Could you please let me go?”

“Did it occur to you, my _precious thing_ ,” immense anger laces his deceivingly calm voice, “that I dismissed the woman’s advances. That perhaps,” his takes a few deep breaths, “I waited until she knelt on the floor and reached for me, before lifting her to her feet and banishing her to the Labyrinth.” He bites the soft skin of her throat hard enough to leave a mark, smiling against her skin as she gasps.

“Not at all.” She keeps her voice from trembling. She knows he cannot lie but he can bend his words.

He smiles a savage smile, “Pity. As that is exactly what I did.”

Her breath catches in her throat. She now knows that he is speaking the truth.

His other hand entwines with the masses of her hair and pulls—situating her face directly under his so that he looks down at her.

“What about the rest of the rumors?” Her voice comes out steady.

He looks at her for a long moment – her heart stops – “False. But I _would_ like a list of names of those who _made your life miserable_ , as you say.” He crushes her mouth in a punishing kiss.

“I don’t want them put in the dungeons for a month, Jareth,” she manages to say between gasps.

A cruel smile, “I shall tear them apart slowly, piece by piece, my love, if they are _at all_ responsible for your departure.” His lilting voice holds a very serious threat.

She shudders at the almost maniacal gleam in his eyes. Between Jareth’s words, his kisses, and his hard length pressed against her core, her emotions threaten to rise to the surface, piercing the calm exterior she works hard to portray. “There are four other points in my terms, Jareth.” She doesn’t flinch as he stares her down icily.

“Of course, precious,” he is as serene as a snake basking in the sunlight. “I shall call on you once I consider the rest of your terms. Then perhaps we can also discuss your…disloyalty to the crown, _hmm_?” He runs a hand, indulgently, through her hair.

“Disloyalty?”

“The word treason would be more accurate, my darling.” And just like that, the Goblin King disappears from her room, leaving her alone in her bed.

\--

“What is he doing?”

“I cannot attend the trials but he is out for blood.”

She takes out a hand rolled, organic cigarette and lights it, her hands shaky. It’s a shitty cigarette, but she doesn’t have any Marlboro Lights at the moment. “This is my fault.”

“Queenie, stop,” she hands over the bottle of Patron that they’ve been drinking directly from the bottle, “you are driving yourself insane.”

Sarah doesn’t say anything as she recalls his words, a shiver running down her spine. _“Then perhaps we can also discuss your…disloyalty to the crown, hmm?”_

The actress jumps up, “Let’s go to Starbucks, you need to get out of the house.”

“Starbucks, really?” she smiles ironically, “he’s probably going to put _me_ on trial once he finds a way to take me back. I need to find a better distraction than Starbucks.”

“Cupcakes then, there is this amazing place in Long Beach, come on.” She pulls her friend to her feet as she calls her driver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> J is pissed.  
> There’s one more chapter and very short epilogue remaining—will probably post as one chapter.


	6. Joint with the Essence of Strawberries and Cloves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This fic is based on the premise of the movie Conversations with Other Women—I do not own the Labyrinth or Conversations with Other Women.
> 
> Thanks for the reviews! The rest of you guys—I’m really curious as to what you think. There’s only an epilogue remaining…so chop chop (if you want to let me know what you think).

She is steadily composed as she sits across from the dark haired man, but her fingers fiddle with the ring on her finger. “There is no easy way to say this, Avi…”

The dark haired man raises his brows. He knows that’s a standard conversation starter and what’s coming next. He doesn’t know why.

Removing the impeccable ring, she places it next to him. “I need to…break up with you.”

“ _Need_?” He doesn’t understand her. “What is going on Corina?”

She sighs. “I’ve lied to you Avi—I do not have a BA in fine arts from Harvard. I’m an NYU grad and my degree probably qualifies me to be a receptionist. I know jack shit about dealing art.”

He’s shocked. “But you know everything about art.”

“Wikipedia.”

“You own a condo in Midtown, a house in Rolling Hills, and a flat in fucking Knightsbridge.”

“I _am_ sufficiently wealthy to fit your standards. But that’s pretty much the only real thing you know about me.”

He looks lost. “What – in the fucking world – is going on Cornia? Are you some kind of con artist?”

She smiles at that, “A con artist would have swindled your money. I thought…we made a good match.” She continues as he gapes at her, “Piece of advice—marry that girlfriend in Paris. She’s clearly in love with you enough so that she’s content with being put on the back burner for so long. Looking for someone with the perfect family background, the perfect degree from the perfect university, and the perfect bank balance is ridiculous. You’re _never_ going to get that three in one deal.” Saying that she leaves him without looking back.

\--

They’re in the patio of a house located in a boutique winery in Sonoma. The view of the orange sun setting into the cloudless, blue sky is amazing…the wine, however, is not.

“Your wine is awful Meilis.” Sarah sets the wine glass aside. She wears a 70s style, wide sleeved, maxi dress that is psychedelically colorful. Her hair flows straight, unrestrained.

“Sure, but it gives you an immediate buzz like nobody’s business,” the actress says, “So drink up.” She owns the vineyard, but has no interest in making wine.

“And a hangover like nobody’s business,” says Kian—Meilis’s younger brother who has taken well to the human world—he spends his mornings surfing or biking, his afternoons smoking joints and playing games on Xbox, and his nights hanging out with similar minded friends. He hasn’t gone back to court in years and no one has come looking for him. “This is way better than alcohol,” he says, taking a puff from an ‘organic’ joint with the essence of strawberries and cloves. “Here,” he says, handing it over to Sarah.

She shakes her head. “I cannot afford to be a paranoid mess right now.” She magicks herself a scotch instead. Placing her elbows on the table, she buries her head in her hands. “How bad is it?”

“Queenie…”

“How bad?”

“The executions have started…and they’re calling you the Crimson River Queen because the blood is left untouched,” the actress says softly. “The trials and executions are both public but I am barred from witnessing either.”

“Crimson River Queen sounds kinda cool,” Kian says, his voice lazy but impressed, “Like you’re a character in Game of Thrones or something.” He leans back and puts his feet up on the table, earning a hard glare from his sister.

“Off the table,” she commands.

“Lighten up sis.”

“Off the table!”

“Shut it.”

“I am inclined to agree with your sister,” says _his_ deep crooning voice and all three pairs of eyes stare at the Goblin King—who sits at the edge of the table, his face unreadable.

On cue, Meilis jumps up from her sitting position and yanks Kian, now sufficiently dazed, and curtsies…all the while slapping her brother on the back, indicating that he should bow. Unfortunately, Kian just stands there high as a kite.

The King wears his ceremonial crown of thorns and is outfitted in solely in black, including a flowing cloak of smoke and darkness that releases its own hum of magic. His harshly angled face is terrifyingly beautiful and his eyes penetrating as he studies the golden skinned youth.

“Could we excuse my brother Kian, Your Highness, he is in no position to be in your presence.” Meilis prays to the gods that Kian isn’t dumb enough to open his mouth—by some miracle, he isn’t. He is simply gaping at the King, his mouth ajar.

“Very well.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” the actress says before shoving her stoned brother outside. “Kian, you need to get the hell away.”

“But-”

“Far away,” she commands, “transport yourself back home and stay there until I call.”

“But-”

“There’s a box of cupcakes in the fridge, from that new place in Long Beach.”

Those are the magic words that make Kian listen to his wiser sister and he transports back without further arguments. Sighing in relief, Meilis walks back to the patio and stands next to Sarah. “Your presence in my hearth does me great honor, Your Highness,” she says sinking into a curtsey again.

Sarah grits her teeth. “Let her go, Jareth. This is between you and me.”

“Oh _Sarah_ ,” his dulcet tone is slightly mocking, “this _charming_ property does belong to Meilis and it would be terribly rude of me to dismiss my… _faithful_ _subject_ ,” he says looking at actress, still in a deep curtsey, “from her own hearth.” His eyes return to Sarah and he stares into cold, jade ice for a few moments. “Rise.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“You may take a seat at the table, Meilis,” the Goblin King does not take his eyes off Sarah, “I require a…witness.”

“I would be honored.” She trembles as she sits down and her pale eyes turn to Sarah beseechingly.

“So have you considered my terms,” Sarah asks, her voice cold and regal.

The Goblin King takes a few excruciating moments to answer her. “Of course, my sweet,” he offers, “I considered your terms.”

“And?”

“Considering how one of your terms was invalid, I can grant you the other four.”

Her heart stops. _Impossible_. “The Fire Harvest-”

“Shh…, precious, do not interrupt,” he smiles sharply as she widens her eyes, realizing that she cannot speak. “ _I_ shall no longer participate in the Fire Harvest of spring as the priestesses have come up with a remarkable new method to renew magic.” He runs a gloved hand down her long hair, holding a lock between his fingers. “Don’t worry your pretty head over what that method is, my sweet—I have forbidden _every_ subject of my kingdom from telling you.” He brings the lock of hair to his lips, “But if you find yourself curious, realize that I will hold the charming Meilis accountable for your actions.” A jagged smile twists his lips as her eyes widen even more, this time with fury “Speak.”

She manages to keep her anger in check, “You think you’ll have my obedience by threatening my friend?”

“Yes, my love. I do believe you will stop prying into matters that do not concern you, if you realize your lovely friend’s life is at stake.” A parchment appears on the table, “here is the blood oath you demanded, signed.”

Gripping the glass of scotch with her trembling fingers, she downs the drink. “What about free reign to traverse the realms and the council?” Her voice is even and her gaze remains cold—panic hasn’t seeped in yet.

“Of course, whatever my _Queen_ demands,” he emphasizes ‘queen.’ “You shall no longer sit in Council meetings and you will have the freedom to traverse through the realms.”

“I need exact time frames, Jareth—I want two weeks every month.”

Harsh, derisive laughter. “No, my love. You failed to mention ‘time frames,’ as you put it, when you demanded the blood oath. You _did_ , however, mention that you would return as my Queen if blood oath allowed you the freedom of traversing, which it does. Now if you would be so kind as to sign…”

“What’s the point of being able to traverse through the realms if I don’t have the time?”

“I do not know, my love.”

“Jareth,” her voice is low but strong, “I hope you respect me enough to add a time frame clause to the oath.” She looks at him head on, her gaze unflinching against the coldness of his eyes.

He laughs long and hard—his voice harsh enough to make her skin prickle. “The things I do for you, precious,” he taunts. “I shall acquiesce to your wishes as I always do,” there’s a trace of bitterness in his voice, “but I cannot give you more than two weeks every two months.”

The actress looks at her friend with an imploring look that says ‘take the deal.’ Sarah relents.

“The room?”

“New apartments have already been constructed and we shall share chambers.” He grins as he sees the blood drain from her face, all of her terms have been met. “I’ve added the ‘time frame’ clause as per your demands, my Queen. Allow me to sign it again.” Taking out a small dagger from his cloak, he slashes his palm and lets the blood drip onto the parchment. He hands her the dagger, hilt first.

“How did you get the Council to agree to all this?”

His eyes are gleeful, “Four Council members are now deceased, my love, the rest saw reason to agree with my Queen’s demands.”

With steady hands, she takes the parchment and reads the terms, her pulse quickening as she realizes that he has kept true to his words. She takes the dagger and winces as it tears through her skin. And she lets droplets of her blood fall onto the scratchy surface of the parchment.

\--

She’s in a sitting room, the walls made of stone are adorned with tapestries made of dragon leather and spun silver. A sudden wave of vertigo crashes into her and she feels herself steadied by strong arms.

“You must stay alert my Queen, we have yet to discuss your charges.”

“My charges?”

His arms guide her to a settee, positioning her so that she can rest her back. “Treason.”

Her eyes flare. “On what account?”

He smiles a charming smile, as he sits next to her. “On the account of deceiving the King, my dearest. Just _where_ did you learn to set up wards against me?” He leans into her, a predator cornering its prey.

She gives a nonchalant shrug. She understands that there’s no point getting intimidated. “Sentence me, Jareth—however you see fit.”

“All in good time, precious,” he says languidly. “But for now,” he pauses as he stands up in one smooth, fluid motion and carries her in his arms, “I would like to show you our new chambers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin. Epilogue coming up. Will tie up loose ends.  
> Fire Harvest did involve sex (I e, the King/Lord chooses a maiden).   
> I had initially thought to include Jareth’s infidelity as part of the plot but I didn’t. Sarah’s relationships don’t count as infidelity b/c they were ‘on a break.’


	7. Hakuna Matata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the Labyrinth or Conversations with Other Women
> 
> Woot. Epilogue's over. Let me know what you think or if you have any questions. Last chance.

8 years later…

“I forbid it.”

“Really?” Her voice is laced with humor, “Too bad.”

“By the gods, woman, why would you travel through a metal box in the sky when you can transport?”

“We can’t just poof into the middle of the airport, Jareth. And we’re flying first class, Emirates—that’s like a five star hotel in the sky. There’s immigration, yellow fever vaccination certificate check,” she explains, exasperated. “And every resort will ask for passport copies.” She hands him a small blue booklet, “this is yours, in case you’re joining us.” She’s chosen Canadian passports for the family as it is the easiest passport to travel with...well, Canadian _and_ Singaporean passports, but that wouldn’t work for them.

“This is not your former Kingdom,” he frowns.

She gives him a look. “Yeah well, we’re less likely to get taken hostage with this one.” She laughs at his expression, “a joke, Jareth. No one’s going to get taken hostage.”

He gives her a hard glare. “Why would anyone want to sleep in a tent in the middle of the jungle? And lying on the sand doing nothing is nothing short of _imbecilic_.”

She sighs. “Most of them are luxury tents, Jareth. The children are extremely excited to see the real version of Lion King and July’s the perfect time to witness the great migration.” She glares back. “I want to relax by lying on the beach and doing absolutely _nothing_ in Zanzi for three days. I don’t care if you think that’s imbecilic.”

The Goblin King opens the booklet, his lips pursing into a thin line as he reads the name she has chosen for him.

“Join us if you want,” she says coolly before leaving their chambers.

\--

The Goblin Kingdom’s royal family had a wonderful time in the Serengeti. The King didn’t burst into flames as he lounged on the beaches of Zanzibar.

\--

Avi David sought therapy for six months. And then he married his girlfriend and moved to a suburb in Connecticut.

\--

Meilis was always asked how she managed to simply ‘not age.’ She hinted at having a brilliant plastic surgeon and all of Hollywood scrambled to find this _brilliant_ doctor.

\--

Kian wrote a movie script. He called it “The Divorce in LA” – the movie was about a divorced couple who meet each other at an art gallery. It did really well.


End file.
